


The Wombat And Dr. House

by Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Adoptive Parent Greg House, Drabbles, Drug Use, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Greg House Being an Asshole, Greg House Has Feelings, Greg House Is A Tsundere, Greg House is Bad With Emotions, House MD Drabbles, Humor, Hurt Greg House, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Angst, Protective Robert Chase, Robert Chase Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Robert Chase Is Babey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27124582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer/pseuds/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer
Summary: Dr. House suddenly pushes himself upright, standing straight to his full height - and Chase barely restrains himself from shrinking back - and lets the vice grip on his cane loosen considerably. "Well, I hope you're available to start soon. Tomorrow soon, to be exact," the man adds, lightly pounding his cane into the floor as if to punctuate his sentence, and Chase nearly flinches in surprise at both the words and the action.-----Or, Robert Chase has no idea what he's getting into when he applies for that fellowship.
Relationships: Greg House & James Wilson, Robert Chase & Greg House, Robert Chase & James Wilson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

"You must be Robert Chase."

The quiet, rumbling voice coming from Chase's left side startles him, but not enough to prevent a flare of irritation. The words are soft and hardly audible, low and gravelly. It's not quite a growl - Chase likens it to more of a… purring kind of sound, the oddly gentle, low cadence with which his name is spoken. The man's tone itself isn't one Chase can identify aside from simply being lowered to a pitch the Aussie would have deemed impossible for a human being to reach, no inflection of any kind of emotion. But he's not particularly worried about picking that apart at the moment; he's more so concerned with the fact that he's been sitting here for almost an hour, thirty minutes _past_ when he was supposed to be meeting with the man. He'd been perfectly on time - early, in fact - but it didn't seem to matter. But as his steely blue eyes flick to the side, head turning to look up at the man, he quickly decides that holding his tongue is his best bet.

His gaze lock on a pair of blue ones, deeper than his own. They peer back at him through a pair of gentle, ever-slightly curled eyelashes, faded eyebrows pinched down across a wrinkled forehead. His mouth is set firmly in neither a smile nor a frown; a neutral expression Chase has grown far too used to seeing, so one he's not entirely unfamiliar with. What he _is_ unfamiliar with is the startling amount of intensity in the man's eyes, emotionless yet imploring. He stares at Chase, almost stares through him, and it takes him a few seconds to remember how to _think_.

Instinctively, his gaze is drawn to the cane at the man's side. He's leaning on it a little heavily, white-knuckling the handle. Chase sees his grip shift the moment his eyes rest on it, and self-consciously tears his eyes upwards again, immediately guilty upon being caught staring.

"That's me." He swallows back the bile that rises in his throat and pushes himself to his feet instead, turning and stepping toward the man. He watches his head duck briefly, eyebrows pushing even further down until the much _taller_ older man before him is suddenly peering _up_ at him. It's an overwhelming display of something Chase can't quite place, and it leaves him speechless and grasping at straws for a few seconds, unsure of how to handle the situation. The man's watching him, now, like… like an animal backed into a corner, a wild dog tracking the movements of a much larger, more threatening creature looming ahead of them. The thought makes him want to recoil and laugh at the same time. He knows full well he's not threatening to this man. He also knows wild dogs, backed into a corner, tend to bite first more often than not.

He sucks in air through his teeth and attempts to steel himself, taking a cautious step forward and extending a hand to the older man. "And you must be Dr. Gregory House," he adds quickly.

Dr. House looks at his hand, but he doesn't take it. Just inclines his head in a short, subtle nod.

Chase pulls his hand back after a moment, nervously adjusting the collar of his suit. The air's a little too hot all of a sudden, and Chase really would appreciate some air conditioning right now. But he also knows he's the only one to blame for the sudden, intense heat that consumes him. He's getting all worked up over this - and for good reason, he rationalizes - but even so, he figures he shouldn't be _this_ nervous, he shouldn't be this… this _scared._ "I'm here for the…"

"Fellowship," Dr. House interrupts. His voice shocks Chase into silence again, the quiet rumble he has a feeling he won't quite get used to anytime soon. He doesn't say anything, though, just braces himself and squares his shoulders and nods. Dr. House studies him again, assessing him, and when a few moments pass like that in complete silence, Chase is absolutely certain that he's about to be turned away. In fact, he's about ready to step back and leave unprompted, naturally assuming that's what the man was waiting for (why else wouldn't he be saying anything?) but just as he starts to shift on his feet, Dr. House suddenly pushes himself upright, standing straight to his full height - and Chase barely restrains himself from shrinking back - and lets the vice grip on his cane loosen considerably. "Well, I hope you're available to start soon. Tomorrow soon, to be exact," the man adds, lightly pounding his cane into the floor as if to punctuate his sentence, and Chase nearly flinches in surprise at both the words and the action.

"Really?" He swallows back a surprised flow of questions, heart stuttering in his chest.

Dr. House arches an eyebrow at him coolly in response. His mouth forms a grin, but it doesn't touch his eyes; they're cold, clouded, a deep, distant ocean blue. They seem to glitter, reflective as if covered in glass, in reference to the transparent shield he seems to have surrounded himself in. Chase can feel it from where he stands, the aura the man gives off, the invisible walls separating himself from everyone else. He sees it in his eyes then, for the very first time.

This man is damaged. He's broken. His eyes aren't just devoid of emotion, they're devoid of _life_. Sympathy swells in his chest - _or maybe it's pity,_ his mind offers as his gaze strays in the direction of the man's cane once more - but his eyes fix on Dr. House's again quickly.

He smiles suddenly at Chase when the Aussie looks back up at him, and a spark of… _something_ finally enters his gaze. He quickly identifies it as intrigue, curiosity. The wild dog has just been given a steaming, juicy steak; he's still guarded, still wary, still watching with that intense gaze that makes Chase think he's either going to retreat or attack at any second - but his attention has been caught nonetheless, and so Chase deduces he's going to be staying where he is for a while as he ponders over his options. He amuses himself silently with the metaphor for a moment, but freezes all over again when Dr. House takes a step forward. He limps - of course he limps - taking a half-step and supporting himself on his cane while his right foot presses to the floor. Chase steps back, now out of courtesy than anything else.

" _Really,"_ Dr. House emphasizes the word, speaking suddenly enough to make Chase flinch. He circles around a few times, limping slowly, and Chase turns his head - but not the rest of his body - to watch as the man prowls around him. Suddenly, he's less reminded of a dog and more so reminded of a _lion_ , especially with the way Dr. House ducks his head and peers at him again, his lips pulled taught in a grin that displays each of his teeth. It's _almost_ non-threatening.

Finally, he stops. He seems satisfied now, and Chase's heart is beating a mile a minute. Dr. House is still a good few feet away, but he feels too close as he studies Chase once more. Then he hums, smiles, and lifts his head again, stepping away. "I'll see you tomorrow, Dr. Chase."

Chase feels the pressure in his chest dissolve immediately once Dr. House makes his exit, retreating back through the doors, and muffles a quiet, slightly shaky sigh of relief with his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

He arrives at exactly seven o' clock on the dot the next morning, pacing outside Dr. House's office. Each minute the clock ticks away is agonizing; he almost convinces himself he's somehow been played, that maybe the man just isn't coming in today. But he's not about to get up and leave; so he continues to pace, trying to amuse himself by walking the length of the tiles, keeping one foot in front of the other. He even plays a game he hasn't played since he was a child, avoiding stepping on any crack or crevice in the floor, no matter how small or shallow. It leads to him stumbling and tripping over his toes more often than not, and he almost rockets head-first into the glass door after a few attempts, the sound of his startled squeal drowned out by a huff of laughter from behind him that immediately makes the poor man cringe. _Dammit._

Chase rights himself, tense, and turns to see Dr. House there. He's side by side with another man, who looks only a little younger than the older doctor himself. There's a somewhat more empathetic expression on his face, a half-smile that sparkles through warm caramel eyes; needless to say, the Aussie immediately relaxes, the compassion in his expression enough to briefly set him at ease. But it melts into confusion at the realization that this man is with Dr. House, who is practically openly sneering at that point, nothing but dark mirth in his eyes.

"This is what I'm dealing with," the older man throws the comment in the younger one's direction, and once again he manages a sympathetic look in Chase's direction while simultaneously throwing a glare at Dr. House in the process. "You better not break my door."

Chase flushes at once, guilt and embarrassment making a permanent home in his gut for the day. He's gonna need a visit to the bathroom very soon. "I wasn't… I mean, I just tripped-"

"It's okay. He's just messing with you," the younger man beside Dr. House interrupts. He's a doctor, Chase notes, studying his white lab coat curiously. He also tosses a curious glance in Dr. House's direction after that, upon realizing that _he's_ not wearing one. But he turns his attention back to the other man quickly when he steps forward, extending a hand with a smile. "Dr. James Wilson, department of oncology. Let me know if House gives you any trouble."

Dr. House snorts at that, as Chase takes Dr. Wilson's hand. "Trouble? Me? I would never."

"Right…" Chase cracks a reluctant grin, trying not to feel too intimidated by the clear malice in the other man's eyes. Dr. House just grins, and limps forward, putting himself between them briefly as he heads toward the door to his office - thus forcing Chase and Dr. Wilson to break apart rather abruptly so they weren't dragged along with him. The Aussie offers the other man a somewhat apologetic look, though he's not quite sure for what - but it's a sentiment that Dr. Wilson seems to share, because he looks just as sheepish as he glances back at Chase.

"Seriously." His voice lowers slightly. "Any trouble at all…"

Chase can only bring himself to nod, somewhat baffled. But he doesn't have time to respond as the door swings open and Dr. House steps inside, turning slightly and holding it open for Chase. "If you're done whispering to the wombat about me," he calls, "I kind of need him for a case."

"I'm right next door," Dr. Wilson says solemnly but he steps back with a nod toward Dr. House. Chase can't put a name to the expression on his face, half-amusement, half… respect? "Just yell if he tries to kill you or something," the man adds, throwing a sly grin in Chase's direction, and he can't help but huff out a laugh despite his nervousness. That's kind of funny, right? Dr. House doesn't exactly seem like the murderer type, and… _and I would know, wouldn't I…?_

He bites his cheek, swallows, and turns to step into the room. Dr. House calls out a quick 'sayonara' to Dr. Wilson before letting the door swing shut behind him, turning to Chase.

"Ground rules," he begins, sweeping his gaze around the room. Chase tenses despite himself - because that _can't_ possibly be good - but Dr. House doesn't seem to notice nor care about his reaction; he simply walks forward, brushing past the Aussie and heading to the desk on the far side of the room. "First rule is… you took psychology, right? You do know what 'fawning' is?"

Chase turns to watch him, tense and bewildered. "Ah… yeah." He's familiar with the term, of course he is, but he doesn't know why it's relevant. Dr. House seems satisfied, turning to face him again and sinking back into the chair at his desk with a smile that borders on smugness.

"First rule is, _don't do it,_ " the diagnostician declares, positioning his cane between his knees. Chase stares, somewhat taken aback. "For any reason. I hired a doctor, not a suck-up. If I'm going to work with someone who will obey my every command without question and not challenge me, I might as well not be looking for someone to work with in the first place. So if, at any point in the future, you see any valid reason to disagree with me-" He pauses, and narrows his eyes slightly at Chase on the word 'valid', "-then I strongly encourage you to do so."

"And…" Chase hesitates, only briefly. "How will I know if I have a valid reason?"

"You'll figure it out," Dr. House replies, dismissively. "Second rule is, you're not allowed in my office unless I'm here. But you're welcome to sit in there-" He inclines his head to the side, and Chase briefly glances over to the room beside the office, much larger and rather empty-looking. There's a table and a few chairs, and a whiteboard and an empty counter, but that's about it. "-instead of pacing around and twiddling your thumbs all day while you wait for me. Which brings me to rule three, the whole 'showing up earlier than I do' thing? If that's some kind of 'impressing me' tactic, it's not working. I'm not impressed. The only thing that's gonna come out of that is a few hours of your time wasted when you could be doing something more productive." He snorts, and Chase decides against telling him that he's not early, he's on _time,_ and could be doing something 'productive' - his job, for example - if Dr. House would show up on time, too.

Obviously, he doesn't say that. Just nods, shifting where he stands and waiting for Dr. House to continue. He understands what he said about 'fawning' perfectly well, but he's _not…_ not _really_. He's just respectful, that's all. There's nothing wrong with being respectful, especially to your boss. The Aussie exhales, half-succeeding in rationalizing the conflict in his mind, and Dr. House studies him with renewed intrigue - but he doesn't comment on it, merely smiles instead. "Dr. Chase, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," his boss declares cheerfully, sitting up and resting his chin on the handle of his cane. "How do you feel about clinic duty?"


	3. Chapter 3

"I need you to break into a patient's home," Dr. House tells him, only a week later.

Chase, at the moment, has a needle in someone's spine - so he can't turn around and shoot his boss the look of absolute horror and confusion he's sure is written across his face.

"Um-" He shifts his feet, briefly pausing his work, "why?"

"For science."

Chase bites back what he wants to say, every dubious protest that rises to his tongue. Instead, he finishes up the LP and gets the patient settled again before they step out of the room; he's still in the process of tearing his gloves off when he finally speaks to Dr. House, as the other man leads him down the hall to their _other_ patient - the one the man apparently wants him to get sued for breaking and entering by. "I can't just break into someone's home," he insists, casting a sharp look around them to be sure nobody is around to overhear. "That's- that's a _felony-"_

Dr. House levels an amused look in his direction. "And you're a felon." It takes about five seconds for Chase's blood to run cold, steps faltering briefly - but he still tries to keep pace with the other man, only his now too-wide eyes betraying every ounce of fear buzzing through him. "We've ruled out everything but environmental causes."

"Actually-" Chase is a little hesitant to object, but he presses forward anyway. "She already-"

"Told us there's nothing to worry about." Dr. House rolls his eyes. "Statistical fact, Dr. Chase; _everybody_ lies. That's not a question - it should never _be_ a question, in any situation. Especially not a situation where someone's life is at stake." He finally stops, looking ahead through the glass wall toward their patient, then turns his head back in Chase's direction with a quiet hum.

"She knows how dangerous this is," Chase objects, looking ahead at the woman. She's sound asleep, seemingly to Dr. House's dismay. "I don't see why she'd lie to us about anything now."

Dr. House shrugs. Then, seemingly for Chase's benefit, he adds, "or she just doesn't know that something in her home could be killing her. It doesn't matter; you're going to check it out."

In the end, Chase agrees - not like he has much of a choice.

The patient is discharged a day later.


	4. Chapter 4

Dr. House, Chase decides, is absolutely _brilliant._

He's only been working with the man for two weeks, but he only needed one to realize that everything his father had told him about the man was true. He was a genius, he was _magnificent_ at his job - and, oddly enough, working with him proves to be a great distraction. He finds himself hiding in the bathroom less and less; instead, he spends his time in the break room, reviewing patient files and going over possible cases in the morning while he waits for the other man. One day - while Chase is looking over a file for a patient presenting with acute kidney failure and cardiomyopathy, Dr. House walks in - particularly grumpy - with a cup of coffee.

Chase glances up, and does a brief doubletake. He's seen Dr. House look amused, he'd seen him look thoughtful, frustrated, stumped and irritated, but he'd never seen him _pout_ before.

"You alright?" It's only polite to ask, but Chase is honestly more curious than concerned. Dr. House grunts, taking his seat at the table and propping his cane up against it beside him. He doesn't respond to Chase immediately, just extends an impatient hand for the file he's holding, and Chase passes it over after a brief second of hesitation, resigned to not getting an answer.

But, he does. Dr. House takes a sip from his coffee and positions the file in front of him to scan it first, and the pout melts away all at once with that familiar sparkle of intrigue Chase has grown all too used to seeing. "Cafeteria's on shutdown for cleaning. Had to walk further for coffee," he finally replies, somewhat dismissively, and Chase furrows his eyebrows. His gaze flicks toward the man's cane again for a second, then down to his right leg - which Chase noticed was a little more tense than usual. But he doesn't say anything as Dr. House flips the folder shut, and manages to snap his gaze back up in time as the older man turns back to him. "Go get a medical history and EKG… then put him on the transplant list, he's probably gonna need it."

"Right." Chase slides his chair back and jumps up, casting another quick glance toward Dr. House's cane and once again keeping his mouth shut as he turns to leave the room.

But the next day, they have a coffee bar in the break room, and he has a _very_ happy boss.

"I think I'm gonna like you," Dr. House comments, studying the coffee machine with a glitter in his eyes that Chase could only describe as excitement. Honestly, it brings a brief smile to Chase's face, and the guilt that's always squirming in his gut settles rather abruptly in a second.

Glancing back at him, Dr. House smirks and adds, "oh, and you, too, I guess."


	5. Chapter 5

"Rule number four."

Chase jumps, sucking in a gasp of surprise and flinching away from the arm reaching across his shoulder. Fear settles in his stomach for a moment, a cold weight he can't quite dismiss, and it melts into an odd sense of embarrassment and humiliation even before he realizes there's nothing to be afraid of right then. He cringes away again when the arm grazes his shoulder, a firm hand reaching down to grasp the marker Chase is holding. He lets the fingers pry it from his grip, glancing over to see Dr. House. His face isn't too close to Chase's - he seems to be making an effort to only be close enough to take the marker - but he does offer Chase an odd, almost curious glance as he takes the marker from him and pulls his arm back, leaning away.

Only then does the Aussie relax, tension draining from his shoulders slowly. The coldness in his stomach dissolves, but it still leaves behind the ever-present, sticky embarrassment, which clings to him harder than ever before. That along with the guilt is just a recipe for disaster.

His chest shudders, exhaling, but he rounds on Dr. House before the man can continue. "Don't do that," he snaps, letting a rush of indignance flood him instead. "You scared me half to _death_."

"My apologies." Dr. House sounds… oddly sincere, and it's enough of a startle to snap Chase from the indignant anger he'd been feeling only moments before. He's not really angry with the man, but he's not going to make an attempt to stifle the flare of irritation that had built up. He's not scared of his boss; maybe he was before, but those feelings have long faded at this point.

Dr. House continues, smooth as ever with a tongue like a razor, "you must not have heard me come in over the marker squeaking." He raises it pointedly, and Chase furrows his eyebrows, anger all but gone. "Which brings me back to rule number four; no touching the whiteboard."

"Fine," Chase grumbles.

"Fine," his boss retorts, a glimmer of amusement entering his gaze. He turns his head to look at what Chase had written on the board, a satisfied look settling across his face. "New case, I see." Tossing the marker up into the air and catching it in one swift motion, Dr. House takes a step forward. Chase steps back to allow him some more room, watching him review the board again.

"Perfect," the other man mumbles after a few seconds. "Let's get started."


	6. Chapter 6

"I need you to write me a prescription."

Chase's pencil stills against his paper at once, curious eyes peering up toward his boss.

Dr. House doesn't look too well today; he's later than usual, which is why Chase is now sitting on the floor against the wall instead of in his chair, knees drawn up just enough to prop up his notebook against his legs so he can draw. He's rather content in this room; it's like a protective shield around him, successfully blocking him from the outside world. Dr. House is obviously _not_ content; exhaustion darkens his features, circles under his eyes, stress lines a little more defined, and the scowl on his face is a clear mixture of irritation and absolute, blind fury. Despite himself, Chase is rather concerned; he doesn't think he's ever seen his boss _furious_ before.

"Are you alright?" He sets the notebook aside but keeps his pencil in hand, reaching back into his pocket to grab his prescription pad. Dr. House doesn't reply to him at once, he never does when Chase asks him if he's okay, he simply limps forward - a little unsteadier than usual - to take his seat at the table. His hand leaves his cane almost at once to clasp over his right leg.

"I need Vicodin for my leg," he growls after a moment, squeezing his eyes shut. Chase's concern is nearly overpowering at that point. Dr. House usually makes a visible effort to mask his pain, but here he is now, openly grimacing even with Chase present. "Cuddy cut me off."

Concern is very quickly overpowered by rage. "What the hell- why?"

Dr. House shakes his head, almost impatiently, _definitely_ dismissively. "It doesn't matter. Just give me the prescription." He digs the heel of his hand into his thigh, lifting the other to his head.

Chase wants to continue pressing, but he decides quickly enough that it can wait at least until Dr. House has taken some medication for his pain. But he knows it'd be cruel of him to just send the poor man off and have him go all the way back to the first floor just to get said medication with as much pain as he's in now, so after a moment of fiddling with the prescription pad, Chase stuffs it back into his pocket and heaves himself up off of the floor, pressing his hand against the glass wall to steady himself. Dr. House glances up at him, a flash of irritation entering his gaze, but there's also an ounce of despair written there that actually tugs at the Aussie's heartstrings.

"Vicodin, right?" Chase checks, heading toward the door. Dr. House's expression shifts almost immediately, irritation dissolving into surprise, then curiosity, then suspicion. He ducks his head, palming his leg again as Chase stops by the door and turns back, waiting for the man's reply.

It comes quietly, a moment after Dr. House purses his lips and studies him thoroughly. "Yeah."

"I'll be right back." He turns and leaves without further explanation.

He makes it to the prescription counter and back without a fuss, successfully avoiding running into Dr. Cuddy and the nurses Dr. House had pointed out to him as her apparent 'lackeys'. He returns to the break room with a bottle of Vicodin in his hand, which is in his pocket, and finds his boss in the same position he was in when he left him, only now rubbing his thigh a little furiously. His head's tilted back toward the ceiling, eyes screwed shut as tight as they can be.

Something about it makes him uncomfortable, seeing Dr. House so hurt, so vulnerable. He's not exactly sure what it is he's supposed to be doing here, how to cope with the situation. But he's quick to step forward when Dr. House opens his eyes, pulling the bottle out to hand it to him.

He accepts it without the thanks Chase knows better than to expect, and the Aussie makes his retreat back to where he'd abandoned his things. Instead of resuming his position, he simply leans down to scoop the notebook and pencil up and head to the table instead, pulling his chair out and sitting down across from Dr. House. His boss is silent, tipping his head back to dump the pills into his mouth and screwing the cap back onto the bottle, which he places in front of him and a little to the left for later use; then he leans forward, crosses his arms over the table in front of him, and presses his forehead against them. Chase can't stop himself from staring for a few moments, and it's only out of courtesy and the slight guilt twisting in his chest that he looks away after a little while, instead flipping to a new page in his notebook to continue drawing. They don't have a patient today, and Chase isn't going to ask if he needs to find one right now. He's more than content to simply let his boss unwind and relax until his pain settles again.

It's about half an hour later that Dr. House finally seems to relax, tension draining from him like a balloon deflating. Chase can practically see it all leave him in an instant, as the man tugs one arm out from under his head to reach down to his leg - not because he's in pain, Chase notes, but because he's relieved that he must not be anymore. At least not to the extent it had been.

Dr. House's mumble comes not too long after, a begrudging grunt of "thanks" that Chase hardly catches. But he does, and once again, his pencil stops scratching against the paper, and his eyes leave his drawing to flick back up to Dr. House again instead. His boss doesn't look up.

After a few seconds of dubious staring, Chase ends up smiling, pleased, and looks back down.


	7. Chapter 7

_Something_ shifts after that, but Chase can't quite put it into words. The months that follow, Dr. House's transparent shield seems to waver every so often. He doesn't get any nicer and he doesn't stop teasing and taunting - if anything, his sometimes-hurtful sarcastic comments fly through the roof the first few weeks, and he starts sending Chase on various missions more and more. Clinic duty, ER duty. He pulls him out of surgery to do lumbar punctures and consults. He's damn near insufferable, he can't help but muse, but this behavior has come on far too suddenly, and far too close to the brief moment of vulnerability Chase has seen that his boss is capable of, for him to not know why it's happening. And so, he decides, he'll just take it in stride.

But then, in rare moments, the behavior shifts. One day the Aussie forgets to restock the sugar and milk in the coffee bar, and so the next morning he's left either having to drink it black or go down to the cafeteria to get some more. He's resigned to doing the latter, despite knowing the needless human interaction it'll cause him, and just barely reaches the elevator before it opens to reveal Dr. House and Dr. Wilson - the former of which is holding a box of sugar packets.

"Ah, there's my favorite little wombat," his boss greets, peering at Chase through his lashes briefly before stepping forward to shove the box into his arms. He takes it without objection, somewhat stunned by the display - because he knows his boss, and he certainly knows him well enough to know Dr. House drinks his coffee black. But he doesn't have a chance to say anything, because he's already turning away to grab the carton of milk Dr. Wilson is holding, and he's limping past Chase before the Aussie has a chance to completely register the situation. "I'll see you tonight, Jimmy," Dr. House calls over his shoulder. "Chase, let's go."

"See you," Dr. Wilson calls, and offers a beaming grin in Chase's direction before leaving.

Dubious once more, Chase follows Dr. House.

His boss is busy tucking the milk away into the mini fridge, and he doesn't look at Chase as he enters. What he _does_ do is grab a cup to pour himself some of the coffee the Aussie had started making before he'd realized they were out of sugar and milk. "Twenty-eight year old male, pre-"

"You don't like sugar and milk in your coffee," Chase interrupts before he can stop himself. Dr. House visibly pauses, mid-pour, and glances back at him. "You brought this for _me."_

"I _brought_ this-" Dr. House jerks his chin toward the box of sugar in Chase's hands. He still has yet to venture close enough to set it down on the counter. "Because we're _out_ of sugar and milk, and _someone_ forgot to restock last night." It was a pretty excusable offense, Chase had been sleep-deprived because Dr. House had him up all night running tests, and he simply hadn't been thinking about how much coffee he was drinking and thus how much sugar and milk he was using, but he can't stifle the guilt in time regardless. Still, he shakes his head and presses on.

"Maybe," he concedes, finally stepping close enough to extend his arm and put the box down. Dr. House follows the movement, putting the coffee pot back down. "But like I said, you don't drink sugar and milk in your coffee, so there's no reason for you to care that we were out." After a moment, furrowing his eyebrows, Chase adds, "how did you even _know_ we were out? You-"

"Twenty-eight year old male," Dr. House interrupts, with a startlingly calm glare and a clear message to drop the subject. He does. "Presenting with respiratory distress, epistaxis, and sudden onset blindness." He steps forward, brushing past Chase. "Doctors have ruled out…"

After a moment, Chase decides to just give in. He's not winning this one.

Still, he smirks as he makes himself a cup of coffee and fills it with sugar and milk.


	8. Chapter 8

"You're a tsundere."

Dr. House pauses, blinks, and peers up at him over his book. "What?"

"You're a tsundere," Chase repeats, simply, but he can't fight the smile on his face in time. Instead of clarifying, however, he jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "Tests are negative."

Dr. House gives him a weird look. "... run a CT scan."

Chase leaves with a grin.

His boss doesn't ask questions. He doesn't ask for clarification. Chase offers no explanation. But he finds it hard to keep himself from bursting into laughter every time Dr. House looks at him after that, with a combination of utter confusion, suspicion and _anger_ that only he can pull off.


End file.
